New York

By Marian Betancourt One of my favorite places to visit is the Battery at the tip of Manhattan, not only for the spectacular harbor view but for its rich history. For example, Castle Clinton, a circular fort of thick red sandstone walls, originally called West Battery, is where tourists buy

By Ann Abel Before Marc Chodock was a country hotelier, he was a New York City finance guy. Working in private equity, the son of a small-business owner found himself drawn to funding small enterprises, where a modest investment could have a big, feel-good payoff. He especially liked hospitality projects—watching

By Steve Jermanok Less than a 2-hour drive from New York City is Sullivan County, the western region of the Catskills. Once the heart of the Borscht Belt, where resorts like Grossinger’s and Kutsher’s thrived in the 50s and the 60s, only to be abandoned in the 80s and 90s

By Shari Hartford Photos courtesy of Archer Hotel What more can you want from an urban hotel? Great location? Check…two doors down from Lord & Taylor, in the shadow of the Empire State Building, excellent proximity to all transportation venues. Cozy without being overly intimate? Check…with 180 rooms, Archer New

By Shari Hartford As I’ve stated time and time again, New York City is chock full of hotels: big ones, small ones, luxurious ones, budget ones and practically one of every chain that there is. And, contrary to the wishes of a certain former mayor, there are still those

Shari Hartford There was a time, in a former millennium, where dining in the Hamptons presented limited options. Sure there were the stalwarts like the Palm, Nick and Toni’s and the late lamented Della Femina, but as you drove further east along 27 the options diminished. That has certainly changed.

“Towards you, towards you, pull it towards you,” my father yells to my mom, referring to the tiller that sits on her lap. We’re aboard my dad’s 22-foot Catalina, sailing at a good 10-knot clip across the cobalt waters of Lake George on our way back to his dock. Mom’s

“Towards you, towards you, pull it towards you,” my father yells to my mom, referring to the tiller that sits on her lap. We’re aboard my dad’s 22-foot Catalina, sailing at a good 10-knot clip across the cobalt waters of Lake George on our way back to his dock.